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by Fake_Brit



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, VMFicrecs prompt (Sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fake_Brit/pseuds/Fake_Brit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> "</i><br/>Sharing is caring, they say. Yeah, well, in his book, sharing always, always, twists into something that drags him to the bottom of a very dark ocean."  Or, Logan catches glimpses of the future through dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was _**2a. Setting: Hospital; Trope: Fake/Pretend Relationship; Prompt: Secret identity (superheroes, slayers, immortals, mutants, spies etc)** _ It kinda got sidestracked, though. Hope you enjoy nonetheless. Would love to hear your thoughts. :)

Hospitals suck. It’s a certainty that feels like part of his very bones, which, had this been part of a Dawson’s Creek-inspired novel, would’ve sounded _poetic_ and _meaningful_ , Logan snorts to himself as he glares at the wall in front of his very own plastic chair made in hell. He’s pretty sure that even toddlers would accuse those traps of making them stiff and pained after short periods of time that actually feel like _damn centuries._

Unfortunately, he’s no Capeside boy – or fortunately? He can’t choose. _Guess it’s up to my mood, then._ (Sunshine and roses, Hollywood breed style, people. A _real_ treat.) – and his definition is miles away from Mr. Spielberg Wannabe’s and can be reduced toone simple phrase: my name is Logan Echolls and I really hate hospitals, period.

Despite his boyish features and the number of heads a simple movement of his, be it wandering around, smirk plastered to his lips, a gentle, tight-lipped smile or a more or less suggestive wink, can turn he really feels like he is anything but carefree and optimistic. _Unless,_ he sneers to himself, grim and angry and sad and _oh, so quippy, you worthless waste of space._ The phrase is part of his routine and yet, thinking about how his father’s– always father. Or _Asshole_. Not dad; never dad. A real ball of sunshine, huh? – face twists, eyes squirming and neck straining, paralyses him and the thought freezes, like a branch that is dangling in the air, minutes away snapping and crashing on the ground, loud and dangerous, yet terrifying and beautiful at the same time. 

Just as he spots the doctor and his own personal version of Satan, for more than one glaringly obvious reason, the rest of the thought finally drops in all its weight, bomb-like and vicious, like a poisonous snake hissing in satisfaction. _It’s time to play the grateful, loving son_.

Logan cannot hear what they’re saying, but his visual is perfectly clear. Judging from the familiar way his stomach tightens and lurches forward in one jerky move Aaron has worked his magic again. They shake hands, and Satan In Disguise smiles his charmeful smile, eyes twinkling. 

Logan sighs as he straightens, nausea wrestling through his stomach. _Mucha mierda to me._

He approaches on his own, expression still lost in the role he was playing, and says, loud and jovial, “C’mon, son. Let’s go home,” Logan hops off the chair, numbness like a heavy blanket on his lower body, gritting his teeth and swallowing a very vocal middle finger.

-:-

That night, it’s the first night he has a Dream. He has no idea how sleep catches him, but he welcomes it like it is water to his thirsty body and hopes that it brings rest and blackness to drown his nightmares into.

_ Silly Logan. _

He opens his eyes and he’s sitting in a limo, his body pumping on adrenaline and… Champagne. _Weird._ Usually after one of those days, in case his brain has enough strength to dream up something, he faces a boxing bag that he glares at as though he could will it to be the reason he’s never found and punches it, throwing his full weight in – as unmenacing as it is for a twelve years old boy – till dawn breaks and he wakes up far away from the edginess that has dug galaxies in every inch of his scraped, hidden body through the night.

Ever since his legs learned to stand on their own and move being still felt like poison to him. Especially after Aaron got… touchy. So, dreaming of sitting in a car, a very fancy one at that, the warmth of alcohol buzzing through him, his mind at ease and no anger on the horizon? Not exactly a coping method he’s familiar with.

Once the shock subdues, his brain registers the whole scene, other people and details included. He’s in a tux – as is Duncan Kane, sitting across from him. He thinks, _way to look like mummy, DK._ It may be just a feeling, but his best friend doesn’t exactly look like the heart of the party. _Or,_ the cynical part of him reasons in a low, self-ironic hiss, _Duncan isn’t as used to building up an appearance as you are._

Lily, on the other hand, looks utterly at ease. Champagne in hand, dress adjusted so that the only person who feels bothered by what it leaves uncovered is Duncan, her eyes sparkling the I-Wanna-Do-Something spark– he, DK and Ronnie better brace themselves.

“Okay,” she says, voice too low to be good. She settles her sights on Logan and asks, gleeful, “It’s my turn? Logan,”

He doesn’t know how he says what he does. In fact, it feels as though he’s both saying it and hearing himself from a distance as he does so. He feels his lips moving as they shape a monosyllabic world. “Truth,” They say you value the things that are hard to come by in your life the most. In Logan’s case, honesty ranks pretty high. _Say, top five._

Lily doesn’t look taken aback. Not one teeny-tiny bit.

Her question, however, does make him more or less choke on his own saliva. “What did you think of Veronica the first time you saw her?” _Hello, Ditch. Meet and welcome my embarrassed corpse._

Words tumble out of him, lightning bolt quick, and he can almost feel the sound his bones make as they snap and he falls down the ditch of shame. And, of course, the satisfied curve of Lily’s grin, burning gold bright in his corneas. “I don’t know,” his voice starts off low and then raises abruptly, like he’s removed his hand or whatever had muffled his worlds thus far. “I thought she was hot,” he admits in a kind of shrill voice, embarrassment thick and face red.

Next to him, Veronica gasps, incredulous. She is dressed in pink, but it almost looks like it’s white. _Ironic much?_

Her voice is high-pitched in its disbelief as she turns to face him, eyes wide with… Surprise, maybe? Shock? “I was _twelve_ when you moved here!”

_ Don’t I know it, Ronnie. _ Logan sighs to himself as his next words come out of his mouth. _Truth it is._ “Oh, and, like you weren’t working it in your shorts and your knee socks,” there’s an edge of teasing in there, but it’s good natured. Apart from Duncan, Veronica is the person he’s most close to. And Lily isn’t a part of that list because, Logan reasons to himself, it would be like cheating since the two of them also have awesome sex on a regular basis.

Her shrieks continue as she retaliates with an angry, “That was my soccer uniform,” and punches him in the shoulder.

Logan ignores her objection in favor of smiling slyly and fueling her disbelief with a gleeful, “So, whatever! It totally worked,”

On the opposite seat, the Kane siblings erupt into a fit of laughter – maniacal and loud on Lily’s end; more guarded yet deeply amused on Duncan’s.

The evening – dream – goes on, and Logan almost forgets what accompanied him to bed that night.

-:-

Afterwards, he doesn’t think much about what he dreamt that night. Life’s all about keeping up a double front for him: being a carefree teenager as a part of the Fab Four whilst hiding the bruises and broken bones he receives chez his enviable father figure.

He and Lily hit it up once spring rolls around and he nears his thirteenth year on Earth. So do Duncan – in Lily’s affectionate lingo, _the Donut_ – and Veronica. Though, of course, Veronica and Duncan aren’t the daunting ones; it’s like an unspoken agreement: you guys keepchasing the fire, we’ll enjoy watching it sparkle from afar.

It’s weird, true, but also incredibly exhilarating. The four of them seem to be even closer, and Logan’s got to admit it, _life as the boyfriend of the infamous Lily Kane_? Not bad at all. He’s always had a knack for mayhem, so he and Lily are on a constant thrill-seek.

Most of the stuff they try out – every single time somebody dares gawk in doubt at Lily’s suggestions, namely Veronica with her big eyes and paled cheeks and arched brows, his girlfriend raises a fist and shouts, “Improvise, my new motto. Why don’t you try it, my dear ‘Ronica?” – would have them earning a made in Celeste Kane land fit. Also known as, _bye, bye, ears and freedom. It’s been awesome, meeting you._

Of course, his own male parental figure wouldn’t take well many things, either. And his reaction would scare the crap out of Mama Kane, if she were to witness a little bit of it.

It’s a good spring, all things considered. Logan Echolls snarks his way through thirteen, shares his days – or, most of them. Whatever – with his three favourite people.

For the first time in his life, he’s no helpless boy. His words can turn heads, opinions. He’s looked up at. For the first time in his life, Logan feels invincible.

-:-

Given that he was practically born into 21st century royalty life had to screw him over somehow. And, from the look of things, one abusive dickhead of a parent isn’t nearly close enough to the required share. _Damn, how naïve of me to think that._

Lily breaks it off. _Again._ Over who the fuck knows what. _Again._

There is something that doesn’t feel like a déjà-vu, though. Veronica isn’t running around trying to soften the blow. She just smiles sadly at him and shrugs, as if to say, _don’t ask me ‘cause I have no idea._

He returns the grin and shakes his head. _No sweat, Veronica._

It’s a week of thinly-veiled mean jabs and payback, of smirks and full-fledged cold smiles. It’s a week straight from hell. Seven days and one hundred and sixty-eight hours of Duncan silently judging the whole thing. One hundred and sixty-eight hours of Veronica Mars stealing glances at him, lips turned downward and understanding shining in her eyes.

It’s the slowest, shittiest week he’s ever lived through. But it ends with Lily on top of him, bodies mingling and promises of _paix fait_ screamed through the haze of both their orgasms.

-:-

Freshman year comes and goes. He and Lily break up and make up a dozen times, over a dozen of stupid things, while Duncan and Veronica seem to be carved in stone, permanently hand holding, grinning and oozing the _happily ever after_ kind of happiness from every pore on their bodies.Which, he’s sure, Celeste can’t help but want to share _. Or want to tear it to pieces_ , in her personal vocabulary.

Homecoming arrives all too soon and it’s like a slap in the face. Logan hasn’t forgotten his dream – if you could call it that. And he’s really starting to doubt that word fits what he saw, for lack of a better phrasing, since the evening plays out exactly like he remembers. __

_ What. The. Fuck? _

Looks very _X-Files_ , doesn’t it?

When the evening ends with a made in Kane lecture about “ _Being a disgrace_ ”, Logan heaves a sigh of relief. He has no idea what’s going on and, frankly speaking, the fact that he knew what to say and what the others would say creeped the hell out of him.

_ The thrills are chasing me, now. Never a dull moment, huh? _

-:-

Thank every possible deity that has ever had a home up in the sky, he doesn’t Dream again.

And yet dull moments are still far, far away from everything Echolls.

As usual, his castle falls at the hands of a Kane. They say the carousel never stops turning, and, boy, do the kings of new technology love their rides twisty.

Duncan breaks up with Veronica. Out of the _fucking blue_ , according to both Lily and Veronica’s trembling whispers.

He tries talking to his best friend about it, tries to understand Duncan’s logic. All he gets, though, is a blank stare and a head shake.

_ I must really have set foot out of Luckland. _

-:-

This Dream isn’t nearly as detailed as the last one, but it creeps him out for a variety of reasons. 

His stomach tightens and he thinks, _it’s one of those, alright._

He’s by the Kane’s pool in plain daylight.

He takes a few steps and he wishes he hadn’t been sleepy, as his stomach keeps tightening, nausea in tow, and he stares, numb like a statue, at Lily’s frozen and bloody face. _Dead_ , a voice hisses, _she’s dead_.

Logan wakes with a jolt, clammy hands crushing the blanket.

He has no idea how, but he’s just stared into his ex girlfriend’s – yet again, yes. And something tells him, for good – blood-filled, dead face and he just _knows_ this isn’t alcohol induced.

He gets up in slow and measured movements, his legs shaking a little anyway.

The first step is almost normal, almost like what he’s just seen was a regular nightmare, but then Lily’s open-yet-hollow eyes flash through his vision, edged in red, and he shakes on the spot.

He’s heavier and heavier as nausea churns through his stomach and moving becomes an utopia worthy of Plato’s Republic.

_ Lily will die. _

He ends up puking his guts out on the rug and collapses there, weak and sweaty, the image of a dead Lily Kane burning in his mind.

-:-

Things are shot straight to hell fast.

Lily does die, Duncan plummets into Zombieland and Veronica… Well, whitish-pink dressed Veronica Mars does a number on them all.

She goes and switches sides without any flicker of regret.

Which in Logan’s lingo means, _war._

Let’s see if Mars keeps an eye on you, _Ronnie._ Her once-affectionate nickname becomes the sting of a snake in his mouth.

_ The Fab Four is a foursome no more _ , he rises a glass of whiskey to the end of an era and celebrates the anger that envelopes him.

_ I heard somewhere that payback is a bitch, Veronica. _

-:-

Figures. His life hasn’t been sent deep enough into hell so far, has it?

It looks like fate is hell-bent on tearing everything he has to shreds.

“According to the latest info, Lynn Echolls, née Lester, has taken her own life by jumping from the Coronado Bridge tonight,” the journalist has the voice of a former Queen Bee, peppy and so high-pitched that he might bleed if she utters another word.

Maybe, somebody thought it would lessen the pain. _Breaking news, it doesn’t. If anything, your screeching makes me want to hurl._

And anyway, that pain? It’s not deep, because is mom might be a load of things, but dead sure as hell ain’t on the list. He knows it in his bones.

He will find a way to prove it if it is the last thing he does before the asshole he shares half of his DNA with gets his hands on him.

_ I suppose it’s about time I don the face of stubbornness _ .

Logan straightens his spine, hope roaring like a wild animal desperate to get out of its cage.

He’s spent the last few hours wandering in the abyss of doubt, expression guarded and limbs shaky like trees in the wild wind of a tornado, ready to bite off the heads of those willing – okay, stupid enough to do such things – to provoke him.

Luck happens to be on his side, though, – write that down, historians all over the world! – since he knows just the person to ask for help. 

After all, they used to be friends, once.

-:-

_ His ringtone woke him up. His lips felt parched as though he hadn’t drunk anything in days, and his body felt… stuck, to say the least. _

_ He groaned as his hand moved, blindly trying to reach for the source of such blaring noise and put an end to it ASAP. _

_ He scoffed, as he prepared himself to curse someone’s ears off. _

_ Logan snapped his phone open, lifting it in one smooth movement of his arm. _

_ “Hello,” his voice was a raspy whisper, in tune with the hammer that was mercilessly pounding on his forehead.  _ Definitely not a fan of playing _Halo_ ‘till morning, then _._

_ He was metwith deep silence, safe for a sharp intake of breath. What in the hell? _

_ “Hello?” _

_ Veronica’s voice trembled in his ear. “Logan? My mom…”  _

_ Uh-uh.  _ Looks like Chez Mars isn’t really that much of a safe heaven anymore.

_ “She’s been tossing things,” his friend sobbed, voice catching on the last word. _

_ Logan’s free hand twitched. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. _

_ His fucking land of expertise. _

_ “And my dad… he’s…” a pause in which Veronica fell silent, and Logan had no trouble filling in the gaps, because he shared every bit of the Sheriff’s feelings. _ Flipping his shit out. _Only difference was, Logan couldn’t fight back._

_ “I’m on my way, Veronica,” he muttered, voice low and still a little drowsy.Not the best calming influence, but he knew what he had to do. Friendship 101 was something he’d always aced. _

-:-

He starts fidgeting the minute he spots the gate of her apartment complex.

He’s never been good at asking for help. Truth to be told, he’s always tried his damned hardest to keep his problems – even those that had no way of coming back and leave a mark, if you catch the meaning he tries so hard to hide – to himself.

Sharing is caring, they say. Yeah, well, in his book, sharing always, _always_ , twists into something that drags him to the bottom of a very dark ocean.

His throat is closed up and the air, though warm, feels like a whip on his arms. _Knock, Logan. It’s not like she will hit you on sight. Mock you, perhaps._

His fist touches the door lightly. Today has been the most accurate depiction of a rollercoaster in the history of Southern California: grief and anger mingling into deep disbelief and crashing into soul sucking fear.

Veronica doesn’t appear in her petite glory at its finest, eyes gleaming and determination setting the lines of her face intothe classic _P.I._ _with a job_ hardness.

Logan sighs, and his body tightens with weariness.

His life has been sinking ever since… he pauses.

As his teeth grit, all the way until blood is on his tongue, metallic and almost bitter in its warmth, his knuckles rasp his former friend’s door, anger and confusion conveying into his blows.

The thought is like getting a punch on a wound that has never quite healed, and he slams the door of his mind completely shut on that four letter name.

_ If I go with She-who-must-not-be-named, will J.K Rowling sue my ass into next year? _

When Veronica opens the door just wide enough to look at him, her eyes almost widen as she asks, doubt shining in her low voice, “Logan, what are you doing here?”

His voice is just as low, too tired to really have an inflexion, and yet he’s sure his eyes are all she needs to see the desperation he’s been harboring all day. “I want you to find my mother,”

-:-

It leads them nowhere, at first.

Each possible scenario witness come forward with is nothing but a pile of black smoke.

And then, he finds himself staring at his mother falling to her death on a dark night. Frame after frame, his breaths comes raggedly and he feels as though his skin were ice cold.

He jolts uptight and runs out of the room; Veronica follows, calling to him as though she had just seen him being set on fire.

When she catches up, her voice is serious. “Your mom’s missing credit card was just used,”

The ice around him thwarts, hope burning as bright as the sun.

-:-

His sleep schedule is jittery at best. His dreams haven’t shown him anything since that fateful shit show of a murder.

As he opens his eyes, he feels the Camelot railway digging into his back, his nerves taut.

His foot is tapping on the floor, his eyes driving sharp glares into the wall.

He’s on edge. Veronica’s hesitant voice hasn’t left his ears yet. “ _Why can’t we do it someplace public? Frappucino, anyone? My threat…”_ he is still angry about the files, yes. Who wouldn’t be? Not only is it completely bat-shit crazy for Veronica to think that Duncan – as in _Lily’s little brother, for fuck’s sake, Mars_ – would kill her, but including Logan in the _whodunit_ list is the lowest of low blows. She knows, well, knew apparently, – in the process of gaining a hardass rep and look, she must’ve ignored taking her daily dose of phosphorus and her memory got weak – that he literally worshipped the ground Lily’s feet touched.

And yet, trust wounded and anger boiling, hearing her shrill voice over the phone sent a chill down his spine.

Something happened, he thought. Before he realized it, his feet started moving and he was in his car, hands clenching around the steering wheel, thoughts locked away because if he thought about something in particular his mind would go down the panicked road of, _Jesus Christ, not again._

And here he is. Pacing outside of a motel that has the fame of being heaven for cheaters, worried sick over his… ex friend? Nemesis? Tragedy Buddy? _Whatever._ His hands are itching with cravings to go in there, Veronica’s nod of safety be damned, and kick Mr. Working-For-The-F.B.I’s ass into the wall.

He’s sure that his feet are going to leave a hole on the steps from so much pressing. _Or that his dear ole dad is gonna have to pay for repairs because he’s going to tear the door off its hinges if Veronica doesn’t come out soon. And a plastic surgeon for Anti-Bombs guy if she’s so much as scraped. Time to display that generosity at its fullest, Daddy-O._

She does exit the room at some point – _finally_ – and his lips move of their own will as he takes her in, relief and marvel melting his hardened stance. “You okay,” 

Veronica doesn’t articulate a response, but gratitude shines in her features.

She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek, quick and so like the girl he once hung out with he’s taken aback and stops.

_ Talk about awkward, eh?  _ What happens next blows his mind.

She moves towards the wooden stairs and he catches her by the arm, spinning her around so that he can stare at her disbelief as his lips come down to hers and he kisses her like he’d never thought he’d kiss anyone since and after Lily Kane.

His hands grab her to keep her close, and he feels like he hasn’t since before his girlfriend died.

He feels like a boy.

Too soon, though, the adrenaline rush ends and Veronica disentangles herself from him, gaze clearing and confusion sharp, and leaves.

He stands there, mind reeling and confusion roaring in his head.

-:-

Logan wakes, still confused, and his first thought is, _my life is definitely hitting every possible twist and turn. What better way to face it than go with the tide?_


End file.
